eswareinmal | (no subject)

Characters: Loki
Open?: Yes!
Where: Outside Schwanheim
When: 6th of Rebirth's Height
Warnings: Aaaaaaangst.

He hasn't looked into that dread mirror since the return back. Buried it at the bottom of a chest, under the robes he had been given, and swept outside, to the sky and the breeze and the grass. He climbed a hill, and he was too warm, but he savored it. Savored the overheat of his skin, the dry lack of sweat, the burn of thirst in his throat.

He settles down on the grass, under the burning sun, and tries to keep his mind away from anything having to do with ice.

But it returns there, as it always does. He can almost taste the power of the Bifrost, feel the thrum of uncontrollable energies directed by his own hand. He can close his eyes and imagine the terror and chaos as Jotunheimr falls.

He can remember the surge of sick satisfaction -- one backhand, and Thor went flying and he thought this is the end to all my troubles and he didn't watch as his brother bled out into the dirt.

The truth.

The truth is that Loki was never meant to be a hero. He was always meant to be the monster.

Loki buries his face in his folded arms. He is empty enough that he is unsurprised when the tears do not come.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

His eyebrow rose. "Pardon my assumption. A sorceress it is, then, and I will recognize you as my own kind." It was an offer, one of respect. He summoned an illusion-flower to his fingertips, a pure white, and offered it to her.

He wouldn't argue the point? The stubbornness drained from her and was replaced by an open curiosity that slipped into wonder. The Spider-Witch had never shown her spells that could make such pleasant things, and the girl reached for the offering without a second thought.

"How did you do that? You didn't even say a spell."

He wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to awe at his magic. It felt so foreign; the fellow gods had always treated it dubiously, and Angrboda had never been surprised but had always sought to best him in it. A friendly competition, but not anything like this.

The flower would be staticky and slippery between her fingers. Insubstantial. If she pinched through it, it would flicker in and out of being.

"Centuries of practice," he said. "Though illusion has always come easily to me. Tell me, then; where do your talents lie?"

"Centuries? That's a really long time." She prodded the flower with a half smile, caution beginning to take a back seat to her entertainment. "She told me it had to do with dreaming; I didn't really understand that. But I can do stuff with wands and words."

"I'm very old." By way of explanation.

He held out a hand, an offering, a gesture to proceed. "Show me."

Gretel fished into a pocket, pulling out a short, black wand. She held it in an awkward fashion that showed her inexperience and waved it, speaking quietly in an Aborigianal language. The air around the pair stills and the temperature rockets.

"That's one of the only things I know that won't hurt anyone."

Loki gave a wince at the higher temperature, and waved a hand, summoning a film of ice to cool it again.

"Destructive magic?" he asked. "That's all?"

Gretel gnawed at her bottom lip for a few moments, tucking the wand away again. "That's all she would teach me."

Well.

"Destruction has its place," he told her. "But it is best wielded with transformation and with creation in equal measure."

The flower in her hands dissolved.

"All may be destroyed without magic," he said. "The universe tends necessarily towards destruction, as it is ever out of balance towards creation. But the virtue of power is that you may reverse the universe's course -- you may twist it so that it serves your purposes."

Gretel let her hand drop back to her side, flexing her fingers. "What if your purpose is about destroying something though? Is that still bad for the balance?"

"You are part of the balance," he told her. "It is far too large for one to alter." Even Loki.

He thought of the monster that he was. Thought of skin crawling blue, eyes turning red. He had to check for a moment, to make sure he still looked Aesir. Still pale, still Loki.

"And is your purpose destruction, little one?" he asked. "Would you like that? Or would you rather wildness? Wouldn't you rather know that you may do whatever you wish -- dark, or light, or anything in between?"

"You can't use light to make bad people go away." She announced. "That's my purpose, I think. So I don't need the other stuff."

He arched an eyebrow. "Very well," he said; he could certainly understand a purpose like that.

Gretel fell silent again, crouching on the ground in front of Loki. She watched him a few moments, pulling at stray strings on her dress.

"What about you?" She asked, quietly.

"My purpose is what I make of it." It is a lie, and it comes a hint too quickly to his tongue, but he controls his expression carefully, and, too, the pitch of his voice.

He does not believe it, of course. He has no such control over the direction of his own life. He does not, even now, even after his fall.

Edited 2012-02-09 07:58 (UTC)

Gretel doesn't catch the quickness and takes the statement at face value, corners of her mouth lifting slightly. "That's kind of brave."

Brave.

One thing that Loki has never been.

But if she is to believe it, well... who is he to disabuse the notion?

"Perhaps," he says, neutrally.

"Are you from around here?"